A Lonely Night
by Miss.Mil
Summary: Post-Endgame. Kathryn runs, Chakotay follows. Somehow they end up at Lake George. Part 2 of "Last Goodbyes".


_a/n: Danke to Helen8462 for the beta. She takes my words and makes them beautiful._

 _A post-Endgame AU. I seem to be writing a lot of these ? DarkFluff? Blame the muse. She never shuts up about torturing these two._

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 **A Lonely Night**

Fog rolls across the bay, whispering over the water. The air is crisp, sharp. It hurts to breathe in as the chilled air touches the lungs of the only two people brave enough to be out this late into the fall.

Silence echoes around them, the breeze rustles the late-falling leaves on the ground causing them to roll over and past their feet, lightly touching over her heels and his boots.

They are standing so close now that it's almost impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. Her petite and not-so-appropriate heels have splutters of mud on their expensive soles from the earlier rain. His slightly more modest shoes have lost their shine from the start of the evening.

But, that was hours ago, before they ended up here. Before she started yelling and running and he ended up following her from the transporter station at Lake George – the real one, this time – and eventually ending in him carrying her the final steps to the door of a long-forgotten lake house. Because she was cold, and her heels were sticking in the mud of a rarely-used track.

Because she'd stopped running. Finally.

Moonlight peeks out from amidst the fog, illuminating a thin strip of light over the frosty earth and up his back so that when she looks at him the raven hair has silver highlights that make him seem more distinguished. And she wants him even more now.

She scrapes an elegant, polished nail up the side of his face; whispers his name teasingly against the rough skin of his neck. She trails her lips after her finger, searching for his mouth and feeling him smile against her own when she finally meets her mark.

His hands grab at the thin material of her dress, fingers and palms digging tightly into the bones of her ribs, and down to her hips. He holds her firmly, back pressed up against the ancient wooden door and within his reach. Finally. Her own slim fingers slip between them, and work their way up to tangle in his hair that he hasn't had time to cut since _Voyager_ burst through the trans-warp hub three days ago.

Her hair comes a little bit loose from the extravagant up-do she's been wearing all evening, and tendrils of auburn hair flutter over the stubble on his cheek. She leans closer still, hitching a leg around him - as much as she can against the tightness of her dress - and drags him into her. His fancy dinner jacket, once on her slim shoulders, falls free, pooling at the base of the door and getting caught in her heels.

She pauses a minute, resting a cold hand on his cheek, breath coming out in puffs in the cold. He inhales, deeply, raggedly and winces as it hurts his lungs. He whispers to her gently in the dark, both their minds clearing.

"What are we doing?"

His words are so soft that for a moment, her eyes slip closed, her skin tingling from his touch and his warm breath soothes her for a moment. The meaning of his words, and she recoils quickly, legs and hands dropping away instantly. She pushes roughly against his still-heaving chest.

"Chakotay?" she asks. Confusion settles in over his features, and he reaches out. She wants to move, but the solid door against her back prevents her from getting any further away. Her heart is beating wildly as the reality of what has just been started sets in.

He grips her waist, tugging her forward and to him again. Small hands rest on his bare forearms, the sleeves of his shirt still rolled from the moment he had to chase her out of the ballroom and down a dark, rainy road to the transporter station.

"Kathryn," he breathes, still revealing in the feel of her slender fingers digging into the muscled flesh of his forearm. "What do we do now?"

Her words speak softly to him, settling in his bones even though her eyes, and his body tell him something entirely different.

"We can't."

They are the two most heartbreaking words he'll ever hear her say. And, he's heard them before, long ago on a planet light-years away with a monkey and a bathtub that he has never forgotten.

He lifts his hands away from her waist, stepping halfway back to allow her the space to move, to run, to turn around and disappear inside the cabin. He doesn't know what she will do now. His breath catches and he stands rigidly still, waiting for her to make the next move.

Tears pool dangerously in her blue eyes, glinting softly in the moonlight. She lifts a pale hand to brush frozen fingers over her swollen lips from the taste of him against her.

She can't remember how they got here, how they've reached this stage of nearly-naked against the door of her family's cabin. Her mind is far too full with the feel and scent of him. The faint tinge of whiskey he'd been drinking at the ball still hints on her lips.

Her heart beats slower in her chest, a dull ache spreads outward at the loss of his touch and the sensation of his hands digging into soft flesh. She can feel her lips begin to bruise from his previously abandoned and insistent pressure.

His eyes are searching for hers in the dark, tears glistening against blue as the moonlight fades back behind the rolling fog. She resists the urge to reach out to him, to run a hand over his lined face and smooth the troubles away. Instead, she steels herself and tries to smile, failing miserably.

Without a word, he steps forward again, and her back hits the door with a dull thud. He bends down, touching his lips to her forehead and lingering there just a moment too long. His hand comes up, brushing away a loose curl and tucking it behind her ear, watching intently when she startles from the intimacy of the gesture.

"Kathryn, I need you."

With four small words, she breaks down. Seven years of repressed feelings and hurt, and she leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Her long eyelashes flutter against the fabric of his shirt. She brings a hand around, snaking under the hem where she pulled it lose from his trousers earlier, and running a chilly hand over the smooth planes of his stomach. Goose-bumps form on his skin, and she grips him just that little bit tighter.

He reaches around, pulling pins from her hair and weaving his fingers between the strands when she doesn't move away. It's getting longer again, just the way he likes it, and his fingertips massage her scalp lightly as pin after pin clatter to the frosty ground.

The wind picks up, ever so slightly, and leaves rustle further about their feet again as she whispers the next words. The hand, not holding her delicate head, rests above her on the wooden door frame. His hands are bigger and stronger than she ever remembers.

"There's something else, isn't there?" she implores, eyes shining bright with the knowledge that she wishes she didn't have.

He looks into her eyes, blinking slowly and drinking her in. Because he'll never forget her like this, hair slightly mussed from his fingers and lips swollen from his kisses.

"I think," he murmurs. "I'm still in love with you, and I don't know how to stop."

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The fog from the night before has given way to incessant rain by the following morning. It hammers against the ancient windows of the cabin, and the curtains are wide open, if only so that the grey light can filter through into the room and make their actions seem a little less shameful.

From where he is curled on the bed, he can vaguely make out the boat in the bay, bobbing on Lake George and he makes a promise to himself that before the day is out he will go sailing. Because the real thing can never compare to his last experience on the holodeck.

And, finally, unlike the last time they sailed on Lake George, he has kissed her.

"Morning," he says, voice still thick with sleep. He runs a finger down a slender cheek, tracing the hollow point of her bones and trailing along the strong line of her jaw. He smiles as her eyes slip closed, and she shudders against his touch.

She untangles herself from the sheet, sitting up slowly as his arm winds its way around her tiny waist.

"Is it?" she asks slowly, blinking around. Her eyes flick to the window, looking at the dreary day outside, and settling on the tiny boat.

She sighs deeply as he leans in, whispering words against her ear with a smile. "It's raining."

Humming an affirmation, she pulls back slightly and looks at him. Her expression tells him instantly that she isn't really interested in the weather outside, or his vague attempt at alluding to activities that are better off undertaken inside. "We have to talk about this."

The silence in the room stretches on, and he spares a glance at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. The small hand ticking the seconds away is suddenly mesmerising, and he can almost forget that she's spoken the words that he fears the most.

"We do," he concedes eventually, when she fails to say anything else.

"There is someone you need to see," she says, and it's almost too calm. He can't really believe that her anger from the previous night would have dissipated so easily. Because she's never been the type to have emotions kissed away, and one day he is going to have to explain himself, and why he chose to run after her and not his date.

But, he is so caught up in the feel of her, and the taste still on his lips that he can't help himself as he pushes against her, stealing another kiss. She glides back down to the mattress with ease, and he succeeds in leaving them both breathless. His tongue traces her bottom lip, making her sigh and relax with heavy eyes.

"Is this really how it's going to be?" she says, and it's almost so defeated that he can't bear to hear the words.

"No," he says, loudly now. Because he means it, and he isn't going to let her go just because he hasn't said goodbye to someone he shouldn't have ever said hello to. Even though the unspoken figure in the room who had been his date to the ball, has blonde hair - like all his past loves - and he knows deep down that this red-head has captured him.

And that is what he craves.

Her eyes open a little more, and she watches him in the silence, save for the heavy rain still splattering against the window pane.

"I'll fix this," he promises.

A tongue darts out to lick at her lips, still slightly purple and bruised from the night before. "I know," she says simply, trusting.

"I have to go."

He untangles his arm from her waist, and presses a chaste kiss to her open mouth. He feels it right down to his groin when she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth and he so wishes he could stay her, with her, and forget the outside world.

But, he has to fix this, and he'll be damned if she runs away from him again.

Shrugging her shoulders, she sits up again and pulls the sheet higher around her. He can see the fine goose-bumps mottling her perfect skin, her body betraying how much she needs him beside her, channelling warmth. It's still cold outside and they didn't make the time to work out the old-fashioned heating system just yet.

Gathering up his pants, he pulls them on slowly, deliberately, watching her watch his every move. He grabs his shirt from the chair by the window, facing away from her and making sure to button it up ever so slowly. He's not even sure where he left his jacket.

"You'll be back," she states, confidently, when he is finished dressing and faces her again. She stretches back down, letting the sheet slip ever so slightly as she rolls over, tucking an arm up under her head.

It isn't something he can ever deny her, not like this, and he smiles his affirmation before quickly leaving the room. He knows if he doesn't go now, he never will. The rustling of sheets grow quiet as he moves further away from the bedroom. Some part of his brain is mildly aware of what they've just done, of the consequences.

But it's completely overshadowed by the senses and emotions still welling up in him, and whatever is left of his brain post-Kathryn Janeway is wandering aimlessly as he treads back up the squelchy path to the transport station, their footprints from the previous night now washed away by the relentless rain.

And when he finally makes it to the station, ordering the technician to send him back to San Francisco, he still thinks of her, curled up in the sheets, seeking the warmth he'd left behind in the imprint of the mattress so close to where she lay.

When he finally tells Seven of Nine that their relationship is over before it really began, all he can think about is getting back to her, the feel of her small hands pressing with need into his chest, and the taste of her mouth on his lips. When he makes it back to the cabin, standing at the threshold once again soaked with rain, he sighs against the wooden door.

He turns the antique handle on the door, wincing at the creaking of the hinges and she is standing there, smiling hesitantly, wrapped in a thin blanket and watching him with cautious eyes. He can't help but smile back, a little breathlessly because he ran from the station and because she is still there, waiting for him.

And because finally, she put her complete trust in him.

"You made it," she says eventually.

He's never been so thankful to keep a promise in all of his life. In a second he is across the room, standing in front of her with a crease in his brow because she sounds so small and vulnerable and he wants hold her until the world outside goes away.

She swallows roughly, the corner of her mouth sagging a little when he doesn't answer her. Doesn't move. Her feet shift, bare feet padding softly on the floorboards.

"I did," he breathes, and he steps closer. Arms pull her in, the blanket falling a little from her shoulders and she feels cold, like she's been waiting all this time for him to breathe life back into her and make her _feel_ again. She whispers something against the skin of his neck, but he doesn't catch it, and he thinks it's probably something close to the three words he's been longing to hear her say for years.

He holds her close, breathing her in. The curls in her hair from the night before have started to straighten, and the stunning make-up that drew his eyes to her in the first place has begun to smudge a little but he doesn't care one bit. She'll always be beautiful to him, and he'll never be able to let her go.

Because he will never, ever get sick of this woman.

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" _Baby girl, I loved you on a lonely night, oh." –_ 'A Lonely Night': The Weeknd [Playlist]

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 _a/n: *shameless plug for an awesome competition* For everyone interested in winning a hand-made (by the talented Talsi!) Chakotay bear, pop over to my profile to find out how or PM me for the tumblr link. It's super easy. Just read and review JC fan fiction!_


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